


Easier

by Matril



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Autism, Blatantly autobiographical, Children, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:51:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matril/pseuds/Matril
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzie and Darcy deal with the ups and downs of parenthood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Birth to Two Years

**Author's Note:**

> This is the one where I basically give Lizzie and Darcy my own kids and see what happens. My oldest is autistic, so a lot of this is pretty blatantly autobiographical. Except that my husband and I aren't wealthy media moguls. ;) Rough times, but good times too. Parenthood is like that.

Lizzie's first pregnancy was easy. She had her share of exhaustion and morning sickness (better termed all-day sickness), but she knew from the volumes of maternity books she and William read that her symptoms were pretty mild. At every checkup her condition met with the doctor's full approval. William wasn't able to attend every one of them with her, but he always called to ask how it had gone and make sure she was taking care of herself. Sometimes Lizzie wondered which one of them was enduring pregnancy hormones. His emotions had never been so openly displayed – delight, anxiety, pride – the whole range and then some. Of course it only made her love him more.

He was there for the ultrasound, and his face transformed at the fuzzy images that the sonogram technician interpreted as a tiny foot, a balled-up fist. And, "Oh, look at that," the tech said cheerily. "It's a boy!"

Her husband looked at her, eyes wet, and Lizzie immediately squeezed his hand and said, "Yes, we can name him William."

She was able to keep working right up until the day she went into labor, though it worried William beyond all reason. She felt fine, mild contractions notwithstanding, and even though her company was at the point where it could run smoothly for a few months without her constant presence, she didn't want to leave until absolutely necessary.

Her employees were largely of William's opinion. They had been watching Lizzie closely the last few weeks, ready to force her home whenever she put a hand on her stomach. She resisted all day, supervising the final edits of the latest project with only the occasional labored breath. When they started coming less than occasionally, the head editor, Angela, finally put her hands on her shoulders and steered her out the door. "You're not staying here another second. I've already called your husband. He's going to pick you up in ten minutes."

Lizzie put up a token protest, but she was secretly glad to sit down and stop pretending to focus on anything else. William came to get her in a frantic rush, and her attempts to calm him down turned into a wordless moan as the next contraction hit.

The rest of the afternoon was surprisingly boring. They arrived at the birthing center and went through an exam only to be told that yes, Lizzie was in labor, but no, she hadn't been in any danger of giving birth at the office. She was still in the very early stages. They could go home for a few hours if they cared to.

They did not care to. If this was early labor, Lizzie wondered, hunched over in agony, how in the world was she going to hold it together when things got really intense? And how was she going to keep on insisting on a drug-free labor when William was going out of his mind at the sight of his wife in such pain?

They took a lot of walks around the birthing center hallways, and whenever a contraction hit Lizzie clutched William's arm till he winced. Then she tried a birthing ball, and a warm bath, and acupressure, and breathing exercises. Nope, she was still in agony. Everything she had learned in the labor classes seemed to fly right out of her head. She was swimming through a hazy world of pain, and the only certainty was William's anxious but solid presence.

After another exam they announced she was progressing nicely. Which meant several more hours of even more excruciating pain, stretching on into an endless, sleepless night. William kept dozing off in spite of all his earnest intentions, and he apologized every time her shouts startled him awake. Maybe she should take pity on him and send him to another room to get some real rest. Selfishly, she didn't want him to leave. And he'd probably refuse to anyway.

"I guess he's not coming today," Lizzie murmured as the clock changed from 11:59 to midnight. "That is, yesterday."

He came in the gray, bleary hours of pre-dawn. 4:12, to be precise. William wrote it in his calendar as soon as he had recovered – somewhat – from the giddy delight of meeting his newborn son. He covered Lizzie's sweaty face in kisses, smoothing the damp hair away from her forehead, while she cradled baby William and murmured wordless, happy nonsense. Then she offered him to her husband.

She watched the contortions of his face in drowsy contentment, and only then realized that their baby was going to need a nickname.

"Well, how did your mother differentiate between you and your father?" Lizzie asked late that afternoon, after all three of them had taken several naps. They could talk easily about his parents now, and he could mention how much he wished they had known her without going stiff and silent and distant.

Now, he just got that confused furrow in his brow and said, "I don't recall there being any confusion. I suppose she called my father 'dear' most of the time."

"What about your grandfather?"

"I don't know. To me, he was just Pappy," William replied with a completely straight face.

Lizzie shifted the baby in her arms and wondered if she had gone delirious and only imagined such a word escaping her husband's lips. "You called your grandfather _Pappy_?"

"Well, I was only three when he died."

"Sorry."

"No need for that," he said with a warm smile.

"Anyway…" Lizzie stroked the soft dark fuzz on their son's head. "There's no way I'm calling you Pappy…and I've never been much for _dears_ or _darlings_. 'William' just suits you so well."

"Would you prefer we chose another name?" he asked, trying to keep his tone detached.

"No," she said firmly. "It's an important tradition in your family. We'll work it out."

It was easy, in the end. They just shortened his name to Will, which his grandmother usually turned into Little Will or Willy or Willy-Billy. Fitz called him Willy D or Willy B, since his middle name was Bennet.

Everyone loved him.

He was the second Bennet grandchild (but only by three months) and the first grandson. Jane and Bing's little girl Mei was adored, but mostly only from a distance. San Francisco was far more accessible for visits than New York. And it wasn't just family members. After a few months maternity leave, Lizzie started bringing him to work with her – one of the perks of having her own company – snug in his baby sling. Everyone cooed and babbled at him and wanted a turn holding him.

William monitored every milestone meticulously. He purchased a new calendar solely to record his son's accomplishments. First smile, first time rolling over, first tooth, first word.

The first word was debatable, of course. It was impossible to pinpoint for certain when Will's utterances transformed from random babbles to deliberate words, but his father believed that by eight months his _mamamamas_ were directed at Lizzie. She was more inclined to call _wawa_ his first, which didn't happen until ten months. Regardless, by his first birthday he had a growing list of indisputable words.

At fifteen months, his favorite word was _baba_. He said it when their family took walks on lazy weekends and they'd pass other strollers with toddlers; he would insist on Lizzie reading him his favorite picture book full of babies for the fourteenth time that day and say baba at every page, and he said it while patting her stomach.

They took it as a sign.

"I always wished I could have had a sister or brother nearer to my age," William said wistfully as he tucked a blanket over his sleeping son and stepped back from the crib. "Gigi and I are close, but not like you and your sisters. I'd like to give that to Will."

"Me too," Lizzie murmured, leaning over to kiss Will's forehead. His dark hair kept teasing them with faint hints that might almost be red, but sooner or later they'd have to admit it was black. Maybe their next one would be a redhead. Yes, there would definitely be another one. There was no question of that. And why wait any longer?

Her second pregnancy was harder. During the first trimester, she could barely manage to get out of bed. She was forced to do a lot of telecommuting. Some days she didn't get any work done at all. William helped as much as he could, getting Will breakfast before he left for work and playing with him from the moment he got home until bedtime. He hired a maid to come by twice a week so she wouldn't have to worry about housecleaning. She frankly didn't care if the house was a mess.

She did feel tremendously guilty about Will. They were having another baby for him, to have a sister or brother close in age, a friend and a play buddy….but right now, it was stealing away all of his mother's energy and enthusiasm.

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," William said when she admitted her anxiety to him. He was rubbing her feet while she lay in bed after another day of doing almost nothing and snapping at Will when he wouldn't stop tugging her hand to try to get her off the couch. "This is the worst part. You remember that from all information you've read on pre-natal development."

"You've read about all that more than I have," Lizzie pointed out. "Obsessively."

"True enough."

"So what exactly is going on right now that makes me feel like I've run a marathon every single day?"

"You're facilitating the growth of a new human being, as well as an entire organ. You're entitled to be exhausted."

"Ugh." Lizzie turned sideways and buried her face in her pillow. "It was easier last time."

"I might add that you're doing all that on top of caring for a very active toddler."

"No, I'm not," Lizzie burst out, her eyes suddenly hot with tears. "I'm not _caring_ for him; I'm hardly managing the bare minimum. I feed him and change him. Forget playing with him or giving him any of the attention and – and – motherly stuff that I'm supposed to. I'm so tired. I'm just so tired."

William listened without interrupting, patient and understanding as always, and when she had nothing left he pulled her close into a wordless hug. He held her for a long time. Then he kissed her forehead and said quietly, "You have doubts about your parenting abilities. That's understandable. I have doubts about my own. But I don't doubt yours. You are extraordinary."

She sighed and leaned against his chest. "If I wasn't in danger of puking up my dinner, I'd be tackling you right now."

"Thank you?"

The world seemed a lot sunnier during the second trimester. Lizzie got some of her energy back, she didn't have to stay home from work very often, and she had plenty of attention to spare for Will.

That was when they noticed his speech delay.

He had a solid handful of words, but the list hadn't grown much for some months now. Lizzie started worrying when she was chatting with a neighbor whose little girl was three months younger and discovered she already had a repertoire of fifty words.

She called Jane. "How many words did Mei have in her vocabulary when she was Will's age?" she demanded without even greeting her.

"Hi, Lizzie. It's good to hear from you. But you sound worried. What's going on?"

"Will only says about twenty words with any regularity. Is that a problem? It's a problem, isn't it? I'm sure it's a problem."

"Oh, Lizzie. You were always a worrier. It's sweet that you're so concerned, but I think you might be panicking. Some children are late bloomers, but they come along. You didn't talk much at first either, and look at you now."

Lizzie took a breath. She knew somehow that Jane would be able to reassure her. "Yeah. I've pretty much made my career out of saying lots of words. Okay, maybe I'm just panicking."

The pediatrician didn't think she was panicking. "I think an evaluation would be a good idea," Dr. Ortiz said at Will's eighteen-month checkup. "Just to rule out any serious issues."

"Serious issues?" Lizzie repeated, a heavy weight settling at the bottom of her stomach.

"Developmental disorders. Expressive speech impairments. It's good to catch these things early. Don't worry. There are plenty of resources to deal with them. And he may just be a late bloomer after all."

But Lizzie was a worrier. It was what she did. When William called up to ask how the checkup went, she tried to mention it casually. "He's doing great. Normal percentiles for weight and height. Everything looks healthy. Oh, and the doctor gave us a number for a speech specialist. Just, you know. Just in case." Her voice betrayed her at the end.

"Lizzie, are you all right?"

"Sure. Sure. You know. Just worrying whether our son has some disorder with a series of unpronounceable words and a lifetime of trouble."

"I'm coming home," he said. "I'll be right there." And before she could protest he had already hung up.

She should have kept her mouth shut about it. Hoping to achieve some kind of damage control, she sat down with Will to read him a book and present her husband with a scene of idyllic mother-son bonding.

Instead, he squirmed away from her to return to his methodical block-stacking, and by the time William came home Lizzie was worse than ever.

"It's my fault," she blurted as he came through the door. "I spent three months neglecting him, and now he can't talk because I didn't – foster his skills, or something."

William set down his coat, went to her and put his arms around her. "You know that's ridiculous, right?" he said gently.

"Is it?"

"Children have learned to talk without anyone caring for them at all. If he has any trouble, it has nothing to do with any imagined neglect on your part."

"Mph." She leaned into him. "Maybe if you repeat it often enough I'll start to believe it."

A week later they met with the speech specialist, braced for a brutal ordeal. It was far easier than they feared. She chatted with them for about a half hour, then played with Will. He clapped when she blew bubbles, laughed when she made silly noises, and even said five of his twenty words. Lizzie tried not to lean over and spy the notes she was making in her binder.

Afterward, she had no diagnosis with a series of unpronounceable words. Just, "Will has a speech delay. He would benefit from weekly therapy."

"And that will eliminate the delay?" William said.

"It will help," she replied. "I can also suggest some ways you can encourage his speech development." She smiled with a nod at Lizzie's now-obvious pregnancy. "I expect a sibling to play with will be an added benefit."

Was she serious, or only saying that because she could somehow sense Lizzie's irrational guilt? Probably reading too much into that.

So Will started speech therapy. He loved Linda, the round-faced, silver-haired woman who came twice a week, with a giant bag of toys, to play with him. Whether it was actually helping his speech his parents could only guess. Linda assured them that his progress might not be noticeable at first, but every little step forward was important.

The new baby came in the middle of September. Sometime around 9:30 at night, Gigi came over to watch Will, bounding with excitement, while Lizzie and William headed off to the birthing center. Labor went much faster this time. By sunrise Lizzie was holding their daughter in her arms, cooing over her indisputably red hair. They called Gigi first and asked her to put Will on the phone. There was silence, then a distant shriek, and Gigi returned with an apologetic, "He doesn't like when I hold the phone at his ear. Sorry. But I told him he has a new baby sister, and he said _baba_! It was _adorable_."

Lizzie smiled and wiped her eyes, too tired to decide whether they were sad or happy tears. Maybe both.

Later in the day Gigi and Will came to visit. Gigi gasped and laughed and gushed over her niece. Will was more interested in the button that moved Lizzie's bed up and down. "Will, come see the baby," Lizzie said over and over. William wrestled him away from the bed's controls and pulled him up to get an aerial view of his sister.

"That's your sister," he said, holding him tight. "Your baby sister."

"Baba," Will said obligingly, waving his hand.

They had decided on Hannah, a sort of variant on her paternal grandmother's name. Lizzie couldn't help also thinking it was fairly easy name to pronounce, and therefore more likely to become one of Will's rare words.

He hadn't said any new words for months now.

It was Linda who brought it up first, though Lizzie had been thinking of it for some time, afraid to voice the fear as if that would make it real. "Will may have a more pervasive developmental disorder," she said at the end of September. "His speech isn't the only issue. I've see a few other behaviors that are usually red flags."

Lizzie shifted a sleeping Hannah in her arms, trying to subdue the dark panic rising in her. "Like what?"

"Repetitive behaviors. Like how he stacks his blocks over and over, the same way every time?"

"I thought he was just – organized," Lizzie said falteringly.

Linda gave a sympathetic smile. "I don't want to worry you. I just want to make sure you're getting Will all the help he might need."

"Of course." She felt detached, like she was watching herself from a distance. "Thank you."

They went through another round of specialists. More chatting with doctors, then watching them play with Will. Or really, play around him. He was very solitary. He didn't look at people's faces very often. Sometimes he didn't respond to his own name. They had his hearing tested just to rule that out, but there were no problems there. She never thought she would have been relieved to learn her son had hearing loss.

Just before Halloween they learned the diagnosis. By then, faced with his growing behavioral issues, they already pretty much knew what was coming.

Will had autism.

On the way home from the specialist, Lizzie said the only thing she could think to say. "It's official. October is a very, very bad month for us."


	2. Two to Three Years

Darcy's initial, instinctive reaction to their son's diagnosis was a stupidly selfish thought. _But Will is going to inherit Pemberley. He can't be autistic. He's going to run the family business when I've retired._

He forced himself to push that away. It was irrelevant. His only concern should be his son's wellbeing and happiness. And Lizzie's. And Hannah's.

Driving home, he took stock of each family member. Will was in the backseat, humming and kicking his legs. Hannah was sleeping. Lizzie was watching the traffic, silently crying.

He could not comfort her. He had never failed to comfort her before, whatever her distress, ever since they had become a couple. It was as simple a matter as holding her and murmuring a few reassuring words. Today, words were hollow. There were no certainties.

The specialist hadn't minced words. "It's too early in his development to place him on a particular spot on the autism spectrum. Many things could change over the next few years. We can only confirm that his social, emotional and verbal delays characterize him as autistic. It is possible that he will never learn to talk fluently or live independently. It is also possible that he could begin talking in complete sentences and become high-functioning. We'll just need to keep monitoring his development." With that, she handed them a folder full of informational pamphlets. Lizzie was clutching it right now with whitened knuckles.

Darcy put his hand on hers. It was all he could manage at the moment, but it was enough that her hand relaxed just a little bit.

In any other situation, he would have dived into research immediately, reading everything he could find to inform himself. Not with this. It took him a few days before he could even pick up that folder.

The diagnosis came on a Friday afternoon, so they had the weekend to try to gather themselves. They cared for their children mechanically, numbly, and talked very little. It was as if a fog had settled over the house and refused to dissipate. At night Lizzie curled up into Darcy's embrace, and they lay there for hours in silent commiseration.

"We're going to need to tell everyone," she suddenly said on Sunday evening, with her toothbrush halfway to her mouth.

He put away his contact lens case and frowned. "You're right."

"How do we do it?"

"I don't know the usual protocol for situations like these." He considered it. "Perhaps a mass email? Is that too impersonal?"

"Is it terrible if I say I don't care? I'm imagining having to say it individually, over and over, to everyone we know, and I just –" She shook her head, eyes welling up. "I'm just so sick of crying."

Darcy came behind her and let her settle into him. They looked at themselves in the bathroom mirror, a worn-down, raw-faced pair. "We'll send out an email," he said quietly.

It seemed impossible that life could go on much as it always had, and yet it did. Darcy recalled the weeks following his first disastrous declaration of love to Lizzie, wondering how he even managed to get out of bed every morning when his entire world had gone dark. This was a different heartache, but the fallout was all too familiar. In some ways the normal, ordinary quality of each day was less bearable than a cataclysmic change. It was all so mundane, talking with Lizzie over breakfast while he wrangled Will into his booster seat and she soothed a fussy Hannah. Heading off to Pemberley, promising to call her at lunch. The uncertainties of the future loomed in the distance, but he could almost forget about them while he was caught up in the present.

He studied the materials the specialist gave them. He began researching agencies that hired out early childhood therapists, looking for a good fit for Will's needs. After they sent out the email he answered Gigi's worried questions and thanked Bing for his and Jane's concern. He often came home to find Lizzie on the phone with another friend or family member, her eyes red and wet, and knew it was going to be another hard evening.

"I know everyone means well, trying to say comforting things and offering advice," she said one such evening, collapsing onto their bed with a groan. "Dad said it was a good thing this happened while I was on maternity leave, so I could have the time to process this. I just said _Yeah, I guess so_ , but you know what? I wish I were back at work. I wish I were up to my elbows in a project instead of stewing in this house alone all day."

Darcy stroked her hair, knowing it wouldn't help to point out that she wasn't alone with two children. "You can go back now if you feel ready. Pemberley has excellent child care –"

"I'm not ready," she snapped. "I've barely started getting Hannah on a feeding schedule. I wouldn't get any work done at all. And it would kill me, sending Will off all day when I feel like I should be spending every minute trying to understand him better."

He nodded. "There's no easy solution. I'm sorry."

Lizzie propped her head up on her hands and gazed at him. "You look tired."

A shrug. "It's only natural. We have a newborn and an autistic toddler."

"No, I mean – you look more than tired. I'm always talking about my feelings. How do _you_ feel, William?"

He stretched out alongside her, cupping her face. "Don't worry about me. I just want to make sure you're all right."

Lizzie seemed less than satisfied, but he forestalled further discussion with a slow, heavy kiss.

Fitz stopped by his office the next morning. They hadn't had the chance for any significant conversations since the email went out about the diagnosis, and frankly Darcy was relieved. Like Lizzie, he felt exhausted at the thought of receiving solicitous concern and well-meaning advice. Fitz, however, just sat down across from him and gave him a serious look. "Hey, Darcy," he said quietly.

"Good morning, Fitz. Did you need something?"

"Nope. But you do."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"I know you, man. You give and give, and you never take a minute for yourself. Especially when it comes to Lizzie."

He opened his mouth to object, but Fitz wouldn't let him. "You're her rock. That's your thing. Which is awesome, but you can't just pretend you don't have any feelings. So start talking."

"I don't recall asking you to be my psychiatrist," Darcy said.

But Fitz just sat there, waiting, refusing to be fended off with sardonic humor.

Darcy took a breath, and then it came out. "This is my fault."

"How?"

"Autism is genetically linked. And it's plain that it didn't come from Lizzie's side of the family. My side, however – well, she said it herself. 'Social strangeness runs in the Darcy family.'" He expected Fitz to cut in and contradict him. He didn't. Darcy pressed on. "I have difficulty in social situations. I have an almost obsessive need for order and certain rigid routines. And now I have given these traits to my son. He may never function independently because of what I have passed along to him."

Fitz's face remained impassive. "Anything else?"

"I feel like a fool." Darcy found his voice rising involuntarily. "The signs were all there, and I didn't see them because I was so determined to have a bright, high-performing son. And yet the signs are so subtle, I still can't quite believe it's real. He isn't withdrawn or lacking in affection. You know that. He gives hugs to everyone. He prefers to come into bed with Lizzie and me rather than sleep alone. And he _is_ bright. He makes the same pattern with his blocks every time, without a single mistake. Where he and I are similar," and now he found it hard to speak past the thickness in his throat, "I find myself both proud of him and fearful that he'll inherit all of my worst flaws. Where he and I are different, I worry that we will never be anything but strangers to each other."

Now that he'd started, he couldn't seem to stop. "I've read all the research I could access, but it doesn't help. There are no clear-cut answers. The range of treatments is so vast, yet nothing has been confirmed with a one hundred percent success rate. The only certain statistics I could find are horrifying. Every year the number of children with autism rises. What if Hannah has it as well? And marriages between parents of autistic children have a significantly higher chance of ending in divorce. Did you know that? I've seen the figures. They're indisputable." He drew breath and finished in a low, unsteady voice, "I have never been more terrified of losing everything."

"Okay," Fitz said.

Darcy looked at him with a scowl. "That's all? That's the extent of your helpful words of wisdom?"

"Hey." Fitz put up his hands. "Don't look at me for wisdom. I was just trying to get you to open up. How do you feel?"

He considered, then answered, "Weak."

"And…?"

"And….better. Somewhat."

"Good. Now here's the unsolicited advice you were expecting. Go home early today. No one's gonna blame you for taking an afternoon off. Go to Lizzie, and tell her what you told me. Nope," he went on, forestalling Darcy's objections, "you're going to tell her. Maybe not with so much word vomit, but it's gotta come out one way or another. She needs to know you're hurting too."

"I fail to see how that would help her."

"Because I'm betting right now she's feeling pretty weak. If she knows you're not getting through all this like some impenetrable rock, it'll help. Like, it's normal to feel weak. You gotta feel your feelings, Darcy."

"Anything else?" He could not keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

"Yeah. Take a nap."

He would not admit it aloud, but he knew there was truth to Fitz's words.

It took Darcy several days to heed the full extent of his advice. He tried to stop trying to carry the entire burden himself. It was not an easy habit to break. But he managed to convey to Lizzie, over the course of several serious conversations, that he was just as vulnerable and worried as she was. Sometimes she looked downright alarmed, and he wondered if he'd made a mistake.

Then one evening she cut him off mid-sentence with a fierce hug. "I love you so much," she whispered, head buried in his chest. "I – I was afraid I was going through this alone."

"Never," he said, unsure if he was trembling or she was or they both were. "Never."

A new routine began to take shape in their lives. Lizzie returned to work, Hannah in tow, but with a flexible schedule (aided and abetted by lots of telecommuting from home) that allowed her to accommodate Will's multiple therapy sessions. When her responsibilities kept her too busy, Darcy could usually manage to be there. Sometimes they had to call on Gigi to fill in. Lydia came to visit for an entire month that spring and helped tremendously. "It's no biggie," she insisted. "My boss majorly owes me after I pretty much saved her business from going down the toilet."

Lydia wasn't exaggerating, lack of modesty notwithstanding. She had really found her niche at a company that arranged parties and other festive occasions, and her ability to befriend and delight new clients had brought the once-struggling company into a new era of prosperity.

She also had a particular gift for engaging Will, which his parents at once appreciated and envied. "I'm his own mother, and I can never get him to laugh like that," Lizzie confided to Darcy, slumped over the kitchen counter while Will's shrieks and giggles rang out from the living room.

"Nor I," Darcy said, rubbing her back. "Perhaps it's just the novelty of a different person."

She grimaced. "Familiarity breeds contempt and all that?"

"Well, hopefully not contempt."

Will did seem to love new people, which Darcy could scarcely wrap his mind around. Meeting new people was excruciating for him, particularly outside a business setting where he could arrange them neatly into professional categories and echelons. Granted, Will's excitement was usually focused on seizing hold of whatever bag or purse they might be carrying and searching for new things to play with, the natural result of having a string of toy-bearing therapists come into his home on a weekly basis. That didn't make his lack of reserve any easier to understand.

He wasn't eligible for preschool until age three, but the registration process began shortly after his second birthday. Darcy had scoured the Bay area for all the best specialized preschool programs and found a few promising candidates. He and Lizzie toured the premises, talked with the administrators and teachers, discussed their methods of therapy and the student-to-teacher ratio, and made meticulous notes and comparisons that eventually comprised fifty close-written pages.

Then began the ordeal of making a choice.

"If we pick one and it doesn't work out," Lizzie said, "we can just transfer him, right?"

"Yes….but we'll risk a lag in his services, and he'll have to adjust to yet another change in routine."

"Right." Lizzie sighed heavily. "So, no pressure, right?"

He kissed the top of her head. "None whatsoever."


	3. Three to Five Years

They settled on a program at last, just in time to register Will. It was unfortunately the least convenient from a geographical standpoint, but with a near one-on-one teacher to student ratio, and a flexible mixture of play therapy and applied behavioral analysis, it seemed the best choice for Will. Lizzie and William were acquiring a whole new set of terminology to navigate the realm of autism. They had to do a lot of translating when explaining things to family and friends.

They all drove out to the school together on Will's first day of preschool. Hannah was approaching toddlerhood herself by then, "a chubby cherub," as her grandmother called her, with a mop of frizzy red hair. They had been watching her development with a cautious optimism, as she showed thus far no signs of any delays. Lizzie wasn't ready to hope quite yet. She had been burned before.

After navigating through the hectic traffic of a school parking lot at drop-off time, William found a parking space at the far end of the lot and pulled in. Lizzie took his hand and said, "Be enthusiastic." It was as much for her benefit as his. They had been telling Will about his exciting new school for weeks now, but it was impossible to tell how much was sinking in. They decided that maintaining an attitude of excitement might help ease the transition when they left him at school for six hours.

Will obligingly clambered out of the car and took her hand, while William unbuckled Hannah and joined them. "Ready?" he asked quietly.

"Not really. But here we go."

At the door they met Ms. Winters, who had led them on a tour of the school a few months earlier. "Hi, Will!" she said, stooping to greet him with a big cheery smile. "Welcome to school. You're going to have a lot of fun." She took his hand, and he smiled with his trademark glance from the corner of his eyes – an adorable, sly look that Lizzie never would have guessed as a symptom of autism, before her year of accelerated education.

"Are you – taking him now?" William asked uncertainly.

"Oh, yes," Ms. Winters said. "We find it makes for an easier transition to drop them off right at the door. Letting parents inside just generates confusion."

Lizzie looked down at her son with a pang. "Oh." She was _not_ going to cry; she was going to smile and be calm and reassuring. She knelt at Will's side and hugged him. "Have a great day, okay? Be brave for mommy."

"Baba," he said. They had long since realized the word was a catch-all for pretty much everything.

She stood, her smile still pasted on, while William had his turn saying goodbye. From her perch in his arms, Hannah reached down and patted Will's dark hair. "Baba Wih. Baba Wih."

With her simple two-word sentences, Hannah's language skills had already exceeded her brother's.

"Bye mommy," Ms. Winters said, waving. "Bye daddy!" Will didn't mimic her motions or words, but he did let out a single wordless noise of glee. He didn't struggle or try to run away as his teacher led him inside.

"He's happy," William said as they headed back to the car. "That's a good sign."

"Mmm." Lizzie leaned back in her seat. "But don't most kids cry on their first day at school, being separated from their parents? That's normal. This isn't."

William cleared his throat. "Normal is a dryer setting."

Lizzie managed a small smile. It was a quotation they had discovered while trying to come to terms with an atypical son, and they often used it to remind each other that searching for normalcy wasn't really productive. She only wished life were as simple a matter as choosing settings on a dryer.

But if she could go back and make her life more normal and streamlined, would she want to? Picking a mainstream major….getting a regular job in a typical field at an established company….meeting some guy, dating him, marrying him in a series of tidy, predictable steps? No. She wouldn't change a thing. Well, except for being nicer to William. But she wouldn't choose normalcy. Not for a second.

She had trouble focusing at work all day. Hannah had started going to child-care at Pemberley a few days out of the week, but today Lizzie kept her with her. She needed to have one of her children close by. And of course Hannah chose that day to be fussy and needy. She usually fell asleep after lunchtime and napped peacefully in the portable crib set up in Lizzie's office, but today she refused to settle unless Lizzie was holding her. She had to do all her typing one-handed, so everything went twice as slowly.

Finally, finally, Hannah's eyes drifted shut, and Lizzie was trying to calculate how much longer to wait before putting her in the crib when her phone rang and startled Hannah awake all over again.

She snatched up the phone just to silence the noise. "Yes, what is it?" she said, too irritated to check who was calling.

"Lizzie, are you all right?" came William's concerned voice.

She let out her breath in a gush. "Sorry. Hannah won't take her nap."

"I'm sorry. Did I wake her?"

"Yeah. Not your fault. It's an off day."

"I see." He sighed. "I feel terrible for this, Lizzie, but something came up in my two-thirty slot. I won't be able to come with you to pick up Will."

"It's all right," she said instantly, because she knew he'd be killing himself with guilt over this. "It'll usually be just me picking him up anyway. We might as well get him used to the routine. Easier transition, right?"

There was a pause, and then he said hesitantly, "Do you think it will ever get easier, Lizzie?"

She couldn't answer.

Hastily he went on, "Sorry, I shouldn't –"

"No, it's fine," she said. "I wonder that too."

"I love you."

"Love you too. See you at dinner?"

"See you then."

She didn't know what she dreaded more when she parked at the school and headed for the door with Hannah – a devastated Will or a happy Will. Of course she wanted him to be happy, but happy after his first day completely apart from his parents? From her? She wouldn't have minded just a few tears. Was that so selfish?

What she didn't expect at all was having Will run right past her to the brightly colored van parked at the curb directly in front of the school. She and Ms. Winters both darted after him and caught him before he clambered aboard. "He's a quick little guy, isn't he?" she chuckled while Will struggled and squirmed against their arms. "He's been watching the van through the classroom window ever since it pulled up. Do you think he'd rather ride the van home?"

"Now?" Lizzie said, frowning.

"No, we'd have to file the paperwork to get him transportation. But once it was in place, I think he might enjoy it. And it would mean less of a commute for you."

Lizzie bit her lip, unsure what she wanted.

"Give it some thought," Ms. Winters said, handing Will's little backpack over to her. "We'll send home the paperwork tomorrow, and you can decide what you want. Will had a nice day. He's such a sweet boy."

Ms. Winters must have a broad definition of _sweet_ if Will had spent the rest of the day as he was now, hollering and fighting and trying to escape. "Did he – behave?" she asked awkwardly.

"Well, it was only his first day," Ms. Winters said, smoothly tactful. "We don't expect him to do much work right away. For now we're letting him adjust to the new environment and familiarize himself with his teachers. And we need to get to know him as well. We won't be collecting much significant data until we get through the first month or so."

"Oh, okay. Well, thank you very much. See you tomorrow?"

"See you then. Bye, Will!"

With one hand supporting Hannah and the other gripping Will's reluctant fingers tightly, Lizzie wended her way back to the car. After she buckled them in and climbed into the driver's seat, she just sat there for a few minutes and tried to clear the fog from her thoughts. It would be simpler, she had to admit, to send Will off in the van every morning rather than driving all the way across town. And he would love it. Mutually beneficial for everyone.

She and William discussed it that night after Hannah and Will were in bed. "I know it's probably the best arrangement, but I think I might get in the car and follow the van the first time he rides it. Is that crazy?"

"If it helps you adjust to it, it's not crazy at all," William said, loosening his tie and pulling it off his neck. She knew he must be tired when he tossed it on a dresser instead of untying it and folding it neatly back on the tie rack. He sat heavily on the bed. "Though you will need to let him go on his own eventually."

"Yeah."

He rubbed his eyes, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Hard day?" she asked, scooting closer to him.

"I've had better. But I know you've been going through much worse, Lizzie. I won't bother you with my troubles."

"Yes you will," she said firmly. "Tell me."

William gave her a wistful smile. "Sometimes I think I've only imagined you. How else could you be so extraordinary?"

Lizzie just gave a familiar little handroll to indicate he should keep going.

He chuckled, then said, "It was Domino. The prototype for version 3.0 has more bugs than we anticipated. Hence the emergency two-thirty meeting."

"I see. Is it salvageable?"

"I hope so. We may have to push back the release date. We'll get some bad press, but it's preferable to releasing a less-than-ready product."

She slid a finger down his chest and started undoing the remaining buttons. "I've missed talking shop with you."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Is that a euphemism?"

"It's open to interpretation," she replied, looking at him beneath lowering eyelids.

William took in her gaze for a moment, then surged forward and kissed her fervidly, hungrily. She could always taste the wonder in his kisses, the surprise that she should want him as much as he wanted her. Seven years of being together, with five years of marriage, and he still hadn't gotten over it. She hoped he never did.

She pulled him in, sliding the suspenders from his shoulders and slipping off his shirt. "William?" she murmured through another kiss.

"Mmm?"

"You know that statistic about parents of autistic children?"

He drew away, brow furrowed. "What about it?"

She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "Let's beat the odds."

It was a long, hard day, but it ended well.

After just a few weeks, it was clear that Will loved preschool. He couldn't say so, but it was plain from the way he bounded joyfully toward the van when it came to pick him up every morning. He usually came home happy as well. His teachers sent home a daily report, and there were quarterly parent-teacher meetings, all generally favorable. The first few months were rocky as he adjusted to the new environment and new expectations, but then he started making progress.

Slowly.

Lizzie couldn't help hoping that he would come home one day, or wake up one morning, to start chattering in complete sentences. Or even two-word sentences. Or any words at all. But if his speech did start progressing significantly, it wouldn't happen in a sudden, dramatic way. And he was making progress. He understood much more than he could express. He was able to follow simple commands now, and he understood that if he sat at his table and worked for ten minutes, he would be allowed a break with one of his favorite toys. These were, his teachers assured her, significant gains.

Hannah, meanwhile, was moving forward in leaps and bounds. By her second birthday she could speak in full paragraphs, and she was already fascinated with letters and numbers. She pointed at everything, which always brought a bittersweet pang to Lizzie's chest. Pointing seemed so intuitive, but Will had never done it without prompting.

So many things she would have taken for granted, if Will hadn't struggled with them. And she was letting it pull her down, darkening her enjoyment of Hannah's accomplishments. Why could she not, instead, let it fill her with gratitude for the simple things? To appreciate the subtle miracles like the time Will patted Hannah's head and actually leaned down to make eye contact with her. Or the time Lizzie came across Will, snuggled in his father's lap, with the two of them wearing identical smiles that crinkled the corners of their eyes. Or the time William brought home an elaborate cake for a combination birthday/anniversary celebration, and Will and Hannah let out twin squeals of delight.

She realized with a start that she was happy, perfectly happy, in those moments. It was so easy to forget and let that feeling fade, surrounded as it was with mundane routines and exhausting challenges. She could not afford to forget.


	4. Five to Six Years

While they were in the process of registering Will for kindergarten and Hannah for preschool, Darcy found his old calendar of his son's milestones. He was rooting through a box of keepsakes, wondering if Lizzie had put their children's birth certificates in there instead of the box labeled _Official Documents_ where they clearly belonged. And then he came across the little book.

He pulled it out slowly, hesitant to relive that selfish disappointment from when he realized that Will would not follow his rigid version of success. But he knew it was better to confront it.

The first twenty or so pages were packed with notes. It seemed Will had reached a new milestone every other day during his first year of life. The notes slowed then, once a week, maybe a few a month. Then nothing.

He had thought it was better to put it away, to stop waiting for things that may never come. But now, looking at the empty pages, he felt like it was the wrong choice.

Darcy began carrying the calendar with him, and gradually discovered new ways to fill its pages. A date from a few weeks ago – _Looked up the first time his name was called._ Just yesterday, _Shut the door after he was asked to._ They would seem insignificant to most outside observers. To his parents, they were worth more than any money could buy.

Money was, unfortunately, an issue that came up more than once in regards to Will's treatments. Choosing a school for him to attend kindergarten was as difficult as the preschool decision, and Lizzie and Darcy did not come to a mutual agreement as easily this time. His preference happened to also be the most expensive, while Lizzie was inclined toward a place that was affiliated with his preschool.

"They'll have the same programs, the same educational philosophy," she argued.

"Perhaps, but their facilities aren't nearly as modern as this one. It's clearly the superior choice."

"Clearly? Why, because it costs more?" He should have recognized the dangerous glint in her eyes by now. "You know, money isn't a magic cure-all. You think you can just throw a wad of cash at something and make it all better."

"I believe nothing of the sort," he replied impatiently. "This school is demonstrably better. They have used their funds to –"

"There. See what you said? Funds. Money."

"All right, money certainly helps. Would you prefer we send him to a one-room hovel?"

"My choice is not a one-room hovel," she said through clenched teeth.

It had just gotten worse from there. But after they'd each cooled off and made their apologies, they reached a compromise fairly easily. Both schools had a waiting list. They could put Will's name in for both and see what happened.

An opening came available in Lizzie's choice before Darcy's. To her credit, she refrained from being smug.

Since they had two weeks between Will's last day of summer preschool and the start of kindergarten, they planned an excursion to their beach-house, accompanied by the Lees. Hannah had been anticipating their arrival for months, asking every day if "My cousins come now?" They kept in touch with video calls fairly regularly, but get-togethers usually only happened once or twice a year.

They had been preparing Will as well, in a different way, by presenting him with pictures and videos of the ocean as well as photos of Mei, Charles, and Aunt Jane and Uncle Bing. It wasn't that he responded fearfully to new situations and places and people. On the contrary, he tended to bound forward into the unknown, forcing his parents to scramble after him before he did something dangerous or destructive or both. But when he was outside of his familiar environment, his problematic behaviors increased a hundredfold.

This trip was no exception, preparation notwithstanding. When the Lees pulled up to the beach-house in their rental, Hannah ran out to greet them with a shriek of delight. Will also let out a high-pitched shriek. Thirty seconds later he let out another…then another, and another.

All afternoon.

"Uh, is he okay?" Bing asked after about an hour. He and Jane had crashed on the sofa, unable to shake off jet lag as easily as their children. Will was perched next to him, grinning widely as he released a particularly ear-piercing noise.

"He's not in pain, if that's what you mean," Lizzie said wearily from the kitchen where she was preparing a salad that would probably go untouched by the younger half of the dinner party. "It's a stimming thing."

"Sensory stimulation," Darcy elaborated, emerging from the refrigerator with a large pitcher of lemonade. "He's excited. This is one of his ways of processing it."

"Right. So…any idea when he'll stop?" Bing immediately looked abashed. "Not that I'm complaining. He's a great kid. I just, uh -"

"It's okay," Lizzie said. Darcy could see her trying not to laugh at Bing's irrepressible need to never say anything less than nice. "You don't have to pretend you're enjoying it." She came to Will, took his hand and said, "Come get some lemonade before you deafen your aunt and uncle."

His response was, of course, a happy shriek.

"Is it all right if we go lie down for a while?" Jane asked. "It's so good to see you, but I can barely keep my eyes open. Mei and Charles should be okay in the playroom – you might want to check on them, though –"

"Of course." Lizzie waved them off. "We'll let you know when dinner's ready."

She watched them shuffle sleepily down the hall, Bing's arm draped easily over Jane's shoulder, and said with a frown, "I just had a terrible, mean thought."

"What is it?"

"I don't want to say it."

"Are you thinking that Jane and Bing would be much better parents for an autistic child?"

She dropped the salad bowl, which was fortunately still empty. "How'd you know? That's just scary."

"Well, I was thinking the same thing." Darcy sighed. "They have infinite patience. I've never heard either one raise their voices."

"And look at their careers." Lizzie made an exasperated gesture. "Bing works with needy children, for heaven's sake. Jane – I bet Will could spend hours playing with her fabric samples. Pretty colors and patterns, and all the different textures; he'd love it. She could probably design a whole line of apparel especially for kids with sensory processing disorders." She slumped to the counter. "Meanwhile, our jobs are all about words. Drama. It's meaningless to him."

"Is it really such a horrible, mean thought?" he asked quietly. "That you wish a more ideal situation for Will?"

"Nope. It's definitely mean. Because I'm not really thinking of him, am I? I'm wishing someone else had to deal with him. I'm envious of everyone with – with normal children."

Darcy cleared his throat. "If Jane and Bing offered to take care of Will," he said quietly, "would you hand him over to them?"

"No!" She whirled on him, her cheeks reddening in fury. "Are you crazy? He's our son."

"There." He took her hands, half-smiling. "I think that proves you're not selfish."

"Not completely selfish, at least," she allowed.

Some time after eleven that night, Bing tapped on their door and popped his head in apologetically. "Um, guys?"

Lizzie sat up groggily and said what had become her instinctive phrase during middle-of-the-night surprises. "What did he do now?"

Darcy rolled over and got up, saying his usual words in turn. "I'll get it." But she followed, typically refusing to let him take care of everything.

They knew what had happened as soon as they stepped into the hallway. The stench was unmistakable.

"Mei came to get us when the, uh, smell woke her up," Bing explained. "We would have taken care of it, but we weren't sure what to do about Will –"

"Seriously?" Lizzie said, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light in the children's room. "That's _really_ nice of you, but –" surveying Will's handiwork all over the floor and furniture, "you should come and get us for something like this." The culprit himself was crouched in bed, naked and wide-eyed.

Jane was standing in the hallway with Mei, holding a fussing Charles. "Is Will feeling all right?" she asked with her usual soft-hearted worry. "I thought you said he was potty trained."

"Mostly," Lizzie answered. "If we're there to direct him to the right place. But if it happens in the middle of the night, he doesn't know what to do about it."

"So this happens a lot?" Bing asked, unable to keep the look of horror from his face.

"Not all the time. But yeah, it's happened more than once. Jane, you'll probably want to take the kids to your room for the time being. Sorry."

"No need to apologize," Jane said sweetly, guiding Mei down the hall.

Lizzie crossed the children's room, gingerly watching where she stepped, and beckoned toward her son. "Come on, Will. Let's get you in the tub."

"I'll get started on this," Darcy said. "Is there a shampooing vacuum in this house?"

"I don't think so," Lizzie called out as she escorted Will to the bathroom. "We'll have to find one to rent tomorrow."

He grimaced. In the meantime, he would need a damp, soapy towel. And plenty of elbow grease.

"Is Hannah okay?" Bing wondered, nodding toward the small figure in a deep sleep in her bed.

"She's fine," Darcy said, once he'd watched her chest rise and fall a few times. "She's learned to sleep through just about anything."

Bing joined him in the scrubbing against his insistence that he should go back to bed. "Man, Darcy," he said partway through, "I don't know how you do this."

"You're doing it now," Darcy said, peering at a bedpost in search of any streaks he might have missed.

"Yeah, but it's one time. All the time? I think I might go crazy."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. This was highly ironic, given his recent conversation with Lizzie.

"I guess I'm just saying, you're an amazing dad."

"I don't claim any extraordinary capabilities," Darcy said. "I do what I have to. Sometimes I handle it adequately, and sometimes I handle it very poorly. I was not so calm the first time we discovered Will had done this." He straightened, regarding his friend earnestly. "But I'm sure you could rise to any occasion you were presented with, Bing. There's no sense in denigrating your skills in an attempt to vaunt mine."

Bing chuckled. "I do okay. Mei and Charles are great. Jane is so good with them," he added, glowing with affection.

"Not at all surprising to any of us. Well, I think that's all that can be done tonight." Darcy began gathering up soiled clothing and sheets and blankets.

Wrinkling his nose, Bing asked, "Are you sure we didn't miss a spot? It still smells pretty strong."

"And so it will, until we can give the rug a thorough shampooing. I apologize for the unpleasantness."

"Should we get like an air freshener or something?"

"I'm afraid not. Will tends to get over-stimulated by artificial aromas."

"Hey," Bing said, perhaps seeing another apology forming on Darcy's lips, "I don't want you to spend the next two weeks saying sorry all the time. Really. If we were that bothered by noises and bad smells, we wouldn't have had kids ourselves."

A fair point. What did it say of Darcy, though? He _was_ bothered by noises and bad smells. Did it make his fatherhood selfless or just some form of stubborn insanity?

The remainder of their excursion, happily, was free of any serious incidents. Will did have another bout of gleeful shrieking one morning, but since they were outdoors, the children playing in the sand, it was more bearable.

Hannah was in a state of perpetual bliss. She had plenty of friends in her neighborhood and playmates at Pemberley's child care, but she adored the idea of children who had the same grandma and grandpa, who knew Aunt Lydia and her boyfriend and shared all the family stories. On the last day, she and Mei clung to each other and had to be pried apart so the Lees could drive to the airport. Hannah sobbed for an hour afterwards. On the way home, she would calm down for a time, then suddenly burst out with, "I miss my couuuuuusins!" and start sobbing afresh.

They consoled her as best as they could with promises of future get-togethers, as well as assuring her she would make plenty of fun new friends at pre-school. Darcy didn't think too much more of it until Lizzie brought it up several weeks later while they were watching the children playing alongside each other in the toy room – next to each other, but solitary.

"I think Hannah would like another brother or a sister," she said softly.

Darcy looked at her in surprise. "Are you suggesting –" He hesitated to finish his thought.

She glanced at Hannah, who was looking up at them with preternaturally wise eyes. In a low voice she said, "Another baby. Yes. Is that completely crazy?"

"Some might think so."

"Okay. But do you?"

"I would love to have another baby," he said frankly. "But I haven't brought it up because you would carry most of the weight of it."

"Literally and figuratively," Lizzie sighed. "True. And yet I find myself thinking of it. A lot."

"Then we should consider it." He spoke calmly, rationally, to conceal the quiet delight rising inside him. For some months now he had gathered the children together only to have the niggling sense that someone was missing. There was no logical reason for it, yet he could not shake it. And like Lizzie, he found himself remembering fondly how it felt to witness a new life that they had created together, to hold a newborn and watch its gentle breathing.

"We could convert the study to a fourth bedroom," Lizzie ventured.

"Yes. And Hannah is becoming more independent since she started preschool."

"Will is making good progress. Do you know his teachers said he's been playing chase with one of the other kindergarteners?"

"Yes, I wrote that in his calendar."

"So."

"So."

"We can give it a few months," Lizzie said. "It's a pretty big decision."

"Yes."

She swallowed, then plunged forward. "Of course we have to think about the chance of another autistic child."

Darcy nodded and squeezed her hand. "We took that chance with Hannah. We just didn't know it."

"True."

They took the chance.

Her third pregnancy was the hardest. Physically, it wasn't any harder than when she carried Hannah. Emotionally, it was brutal. She was about a month and a half along when they announced it to their family at Christmas. Though everyone responded with excited words and encouragement, their doubts were clear. Darcy thought he knew his father-in-law well enough by then to recognize his look of _Lizzie, have you lost your senses?_ The rest of them seemed to be determinedly avoiding eye contact. Will chose that moment, of course, to have a full-fledged meltdown complete with wrenching sobs, thrashing and kicking anyone who tried to approach him.

"These don't happen very often," Lizzie said in weak defense while Darcy took up Will and forcibly hugged him, giving the intense physical pressure that might, eventually, calm him down. "He's out of sorts because we're away from home."

Mrs. Bennet gave an uncertain, tearful nod. "Oh, Willy-billy. Would you like another cookie?"

"He's had ten already, mom."

"Why don't I take him for a walk?" Darcy said. Lizzie turned to him and mouthed _Thank you._

At first he had to carry a struggling Will, but after a few minutes his son's distress subsided and he consented to walk hand in hand down the sidewalk. He didn't point or ask a litany of questions like Hannah, and much as Darcy wished for it, he also appreciated the silence. That was something he and his son had in common. They liked the quiet. They liked to observe the world without making a fuss about it.

Will had never said _I love you, daddy_ as Hannah did. Perhaps he never would. That didn't mean he didn't feel it.


	5. Six to Eight Years

Lizzie went into labor on the hottest day of the year, right after Will's last day of summer school. She was nearly two weeks past her due date, and most of the arrangements they had made for the delivery were no longer workable. Gigi was at a conference in Phoenix, attending seminars on graphic design. She had offered to stay home when they realized the baby wasn't coming before the conference, but they wouldn't allow it. "We have like a billion-dollar babysitting budget," Lizzie told her, well aware that her slight exaggeration would exasperate William. "I'm sure we can find someone to watch the kids."

As it happened, they found someone who didn't want to be paid. Lizzie might have rather spent a billion dollars.

The doorbell rang just as Lizzie was undergoing a particularly insistent contraction, the one that had her thinking she should call William. But first she'd answer the door.

She pulled it open only to stand there, stupefied. It was William's aunt, Catherine de Bourgh in all her imperious glory. "Liz," she said, looking down her nose at her. "I see you're taking advantage of your condition."

"Advantage?" Lizzie repeated in weary bewilderment.

"I suppose we can't all keep working through every inconvenience." She swept inside without missing a beat. "Just because I've never taken a day off work doesn't mean that others can be expected to achieve the same high level of work ethic."

Lizzie had developed a fairly thick skin to Catherine's barbs over the years, but today? Not today. "Sure. Now if you don't mind, since my condition is changing into _active labor_ , I was about to call my husband."

"You're in labor?" Catherine said, blinking.

Before Lizzie could think of a response other than a sardonic, _Would you like me to prove it?_ Hannah padded into the living room wearing nothing but her shirt. "Mommy, I went potty but first I went potty in my pants."

"Okay, honey," Lizzie said, the words straining past another contraction. "Just a minute."

Catherine strode purposefully toward Hannah. "Oh, I'll take care of it."

"Um –"

"I've got it all under control, Liz; don't you worry a bit. Since I lost dear Annie Kins I've had nowhere to direct my caregiving instincts." She picked up Hannah, who didn't seem too distressed even though she had no idea who this woman was. _Great-Aunt Catherine_ was spoken of like a figure of legend in their household, not a person of flesh and blood. Lizzie watched them disappear down the hallway with not a few misgivings, but her worsening pain was too urgent to put off any longer.

William picked up at the first ring.

"Hi," she said shakily.

"It's time?"

"Yes."

"I'll be right there."

"William –"

"What is it?" His voice surged forward in panic. "Is something wrong?"

"Not….exactly. Your aunt is here."

There was a silence, then, "I'll be as quick as I can."

In Lizzie's memory, William had never broken the speed limit, not even when taking her in for Will and Hannah's births. He was the poster boy for the phrase _conscientious to a fault._

He must have ignored every traffic law imaginable to get home as fast as he did that day.

By then Hannah was cleaned, dressed and playing in the toy room. Before Lizzie could marvel at her aunt-in-law's efficiency and helpfulness, Catherine returned to sit beside her and proclaim that she was breathing too shallowly, thereby preventing her unborn child from getting the proper amount of oxygen, but of course one couldn't blame her from failing to educate herself about proper birthing techniques when she spread herself so thin. Two children already, and now a third. The Darcy family used to be known for discretion and moderation, but times had certainly changed, hadn't they?

Lizzie clenched her teeth. Was there a word for murdering one's husband's aunt? She was minutes away from committing it.

Then, "Lizzie," came William's very welcome voice. He hurried through the doorway, came to her side and helped her to her feet. "I'm sorry it took so long."

"Not – that – long," Lizzie managed, a partial lie. One minute with Catherine might have been too much. And yet Hannah was taken care of, and happy. She had to credit Catherine for that.

"Aunt Catherine," he said with a curt nod. "You mentioned you might visit sometime this month. As you see, you haven't come at the best possible moment."

"Nonsense," his aunt replied, standing and adjusting her glasses. "This works out well for all of us. I will care for your children. I assume your son will be coming home from school momentarily?"

"In about half an hour," Lizzie answered, with a frantic look at William.

He frowned. "Are you sure about this? The children can be – challenging. Particularly Will."

"I am prepared for any challenge. I have been studying all the newest techniques."

Lizzie inwardly rolled her eyes. Of course. Catherine frequently inundated William's inbox with all the latest outlying theories about autism treatments and supposed cures. Some of them were downright alarming. William knew how to respond politely without actually promising to try out any of her suggestions. Now, apparently, she had come to try them herself. "William," she muttered.

He squeezed her hand. "Aunt Catherine, we would be very grateful. But Will prefers to keep to a particular routine. We've written it all down on a schedule on the refrigerator."

"I'll keep it in mind," she said, also without making any promises.

" _William_ ," Lizzie said, her mutter ever more urgent.

"And please call me if you have any issues."

Was this really happening? Somehow Lizzie found herself saying goodbye to Hannah and heading out to the car, hospital bag over her arm. She eased herself into her seat, buckled herself in and demanded of William, "Are you _crazy_?"

"I'm desperate," he said, putting the car into gear. "Remember how much faster your labor progressed with Hannah? I doubt we have much time. And my aunt is already here, ready and willing to help."

"Do we really want her brand of help? Ohhhhh." She had to stop talking for a minute. "That was a bad one."

"Proving my point." He pulled out of the driveway and started driving down the street.

"I'm not going to give birth this second. William. What if we come home to find our children – I don't know, dressed up as little lapdogs? Or –" She turned to him in horror. "Fawning on her like miniature Ricky Collinses?"

"Lizzie, I know my aunt is – difficult. But she is capable. And she means well."

"She might have thought of calling before showing up at our doorstep."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Yes, my family does have a habit of bursting in unannounced, don't we?"

"Ugh. You're hilarious."

"All that aside," he said, his tone softening, "Aunt Catherine is family. She certainly has her share of faults, but she is family, first and foremost. I must honor that."

She shut her eyes and breathed through another contraction, then said, "I love you and your big dumb honor."

"Thank you."

Joshua was born a little after midnight, healthy and squalling. By that point their other two children were sound asleep, according to Catherine's latest report at nine o'clock sharp. She had called every hour, on the hour, until she considered her duties properly discharged. Lizzie wasn't sure if it was the effect of post-birth euphoria, enveloping her in a sleepy, happy haze, but she was actually feeling quite favorable toward Catherine at the moment.

William was slumped in the chair next to her bed, half-asleep with his phone clutched in his hand. She let him rest, enjoying this moment with Joshua all to herself. He was nearly bald, making it anyone's guess what his eventual hair color would be, but his eyes were definitely William's, and they gazed up at her in this rare moment of alertness for a brand-new baby.

She wanted to plead with him, _Just be okay. No delays, no developmental disorders._ But it wasn't in his power any more than it was in hers. "I want you to be okay," she whispered. "I don't want you to have to struggle and fight for every bit of progress like your brother. I want you to be happy. But no matter what, I'll love you. Even if every moment hurts."

William stirred, dropping his phone. He rubbed his face, bent and retrieved the phone, and turned to her.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi."

"Would you like to take him?"

"Absolutely. You should sleep."

"Maybe I will."

As she handed Joshua to William, she could already feel her body drifting blissfully toward unconsciousness. "You know what?" she murmured just before dropping off. "Your aunt is all right."

The next day after the children were done with school in the afternoon, William brought them to meet their new brother. Will played with the bed's controls again. Hannah squealed and oohed, then sat solemnly still in her father's lap while he helped her hold Joshua.

But even as a typically developing child, Hannah still had a short attention span, and a sleeping Joshua could only hold her interest for so long. She began running the length of the room, back and forth, little curls of red hair streaming out behind her. Lizzie was preoccupied with encouraging Joshua to latch on and start feeding, but she looked up when William gave her an urgent nudge and whispered in wonder, "Are you seeing this?"

She watched. Hannah and Will were chasing each other.

"William," she breathed. "Get your phone. Quick. If you don't record this I'll think I imagined it all."

He whipped out his phone and started a video. Hannah was dashing around Lizzie's bed, laughing giddily, pursued by an equally gleeful Will. When they reached the wall, Will turned around and Hannah gave chase in turn. He didn't just happen to be running behind or in front of her. He was deliberately engaging her, watching her reactions. When he was in front he would look back to make sure she was following, and hoot with delight when he saw that she was.

Lizzie didn't even know she was crying until she rubbed an eye and discovered it was wet.

Two items were recorded in William's calendars that day. _Joshua is born. And Will and Hannah play together for the first time._ They seemed of almost equal importance.

There was no question that life became more complicated once Lizzie and William were outnumbered by their children, but they never doubted their choice to have Joshua. From that first day at the birthing center, it was clear he would bring something very special to their family. Once Hannah learned to read (she practically taught herself at the age of four) and preferred curling up quietly with a book to playing chase with Will, he found the perfect playmate in his little brother.

Joshua had a physical intensity from the beginning. He no sooner learned to walk than he started running. He climbed on every available piece of furniture and jumped from alarming heights, but always managed to land, cat-like, in a safe position. Will had no words, but running and jumping was a language he could speak with fluency.

Lizzie and William monitored his development with an obsessive watchfulness, of course. When his speech seemed a little slow they immediately took him in to be evaluated. The specialist, a new one who wasn't familiar with their family, breezily said, "Oh, these sort of delays are quite common for young siblings, especially boys. I wouldn't worry about it."

"His older brother is autistic," was all Lizzie could say.

For several anxious months, they saw red flags everywhere. "Do you think he makes eye contact regularly enough?" Lizzie would wonder. "And I'm afraid he doesn't have much creative play. Sometimes he plays make-believe, I guess, but he could just be following Hannah's lead."

"I don't know," was all William could answer.

But by his second birthday, even their hyper-concern couldn't stand in the face of so much contrary evidence. Though many of his words were unintelligible to anyone outside the family, Joshua was definitely speaking in simple sentences. He looked people in the eye and played creatively enough even to satisfy Lizzie. And yet for all his typical development he still seemed to understand Will as no one else could.

"It's like he's our translator," William said fondly, watching his sons run circles around the playroom. "Bridging the gap, so to speak."

Lizzie nodded slowly. An idea was half-forming in her head, but she wasn't ready to voice it out loud just yet. Instead she said, "I have a lot of good boys in my life."

He lifted an eyebrow in mock offense. "I would hope that I, at least, have earned the title of _man_."

"Don't you worry." She fluttered in eyelashes in outrageous flirtation. "I would certainly never question your manhood."

His reddening face was highly gratifying.


	6. Eight to Ten Years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it - primarily because my own son is ten years old, so I don't know what comes next! Also, I felt like this was a nice finish. 
> 
> I was delighted to see the video with Darcy on Thursday, but I'm also driving myself crazy wondering how many of my future fics are going to be contradicted by new canon. This is why I waited till the series was over to start writing fan fic in earnest. I....may go back and fix things once we know for sure what Gigi's going to do with her life. Yeah, I'm pretty OCD about this. ;) Anyway, thank you all so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos!

"So…what's the occasion?" Lizzie asked as they slipped out of the house one Friday evening, leaving their children to the care of Gigi and her fiancée Stephen.

Darcy smiled. "Does there need to be one?"

"Noooo…but we usually plan outings like this weeks ahead of time. So when you whisk me off on a surprise date, I have to wonder what's going on."

He started the car, avoiding her keen eyes. "I believe we have reason enough to celebrate. Yesterday's meeting with Will's teachers, for one thing."

"Oh, definitely." Her mood was so vibrant; he couldn't resist looking at her. Excitement radiated from her face. "I can't believe all the things he's doing at school. Writing his own name! I knew they had started him with tracing it, but now they say he's doing it freehand?" She let out a rueful laugh. "I guess it's a good thing we shortened his name. Four letters is a lot easier than seven."

"Agreed."

She paused, then said, "Do you think we would have done anything else differently, if we had known from the beginning?"

"That depends on what you mean by the beginning."

"I don't know. When we got married. When we decided to have a baby. When Will was born."

Darcy shook his head. "Too many variables. It's impossible to say for sure."

"Ever the pragmatist," she sighed, but it was fond sigh, and she followed it up by leaning over to kiss his cheek.

She was still trying to divine his secret when they arrived at the restaurant and the hostess escorted them to a private table on the balcony. "Come on, what is this all about?" she demanded.

"Just a romantic evening with my wife," he said, taking her hand. "Surely you can't take issue with that."

Lizzie laughed, a full-throated sound that never failed to thrill him, assuring him that she was utterly comfortable and unselfconscious in his presence. "I can take issue with anything. I'm very good at taking issue. But I see you're determined to stretch this out as long as possible, so I'll humor you."

"Shall we have something special to drink?" he asked, fully knowing that the server would be arriving with Darcy's choice of champagne at any moment.

"I'm not too picky," she said. "Just having a drink of any kind would be special, honestly." Alcoholic beverages had become a rarity at home. They had no way of explaining to Will why he wasn't allowed to have any, and he was far too clever at finding hiding places and opening supposedly-childproof locks.

"Understandable," he nodded.

They chatted companionably for a few minutes while they waited for the server. As usual, their conversation leaned heavily toward discussions of Will, Hannah and Joshua, though it meandered as well to the latest book Lizzie had read, Gigi's wedding plans, and Darcy's recent trip to New York, a business excursion that had naturally included a full day with the Lees.

They never ran out of things to talk about.

The server came, presenting the champagne, and Lizzie cast an accusing look at Darcy. She waited until they were alone to say, "You're a shameless liar, you know that?"

"I like surprising you."

She lifted her glass. He took up his own and met hers halfway across the table. "Cheers," she said with a dazzling smile.

He tried to resist the urge to check the time as the evening wore on. His pocket watch remained firmly tucked away, yet Lizzie somehow still noticed his fidgeting. "What is it?" she asked. "Should I go to the kitchen and tell the chef to hurry up? Is that your problem?"

"There's no problem," he said mildly.

"Sure."

Their entrees arrived, but tucking into his plateful of food was still not enough to disguise his restlessness. Partway through her own meal, Lizzie put down her fork, rested her chin on her hands and gazed at him. "William….do you want to skip straight to dessert?"

His own fork clattered to the plate. He retrieved it with as much dignity as he could muster, while the edges of his mouth twitched insistently toward a smile. "I don't know that we'll have much room for dessert," he said in pretended innocence. "These are very generous helpings."

"Right." She opened her mouth to say something more. Then Darcy's phone rang.

He pulled it out swiftly, and Lizzie's face fell. "Really? You couldn't turn it off, just for one evening?"

"Lizzie," Darcy said, with scarcely contained excitement, "this call is for you."

She took the offered phone with a puzzled look and answered the call. As she watched the video appear on the screen, her face transformed. "Will?" she said softly.

A mechanized voice sounded from the phone, clearly audible to Darcy from across the table. _I am…Will. I am…talking…with…phone._

"I know, honey," Lizzie said shakily. She would be seeing Will's face on her screen, probably not looking directly at her, but concentrating upon the icons that showed up on his own specialized touch-sensitive interface. Each icon represented a word or phrase that he could select, icons that were already a part of his repertoire at school. "That's great. That's – amazing."

 _I want…popcorn._ Lizzie let out a watery laugh. Darcy smiled. The popcorn part was not exactly something they had prompted Will to say, but it was wonderful to see his individual preferences asserting themselves.

"Great job, Will!" came Gigi's distant voice from the other end. "Say goodbye now, okay?"

_Good-bye._

"Bye, Will," Lizzie whispered. She watched the screen a moment longer, then lowered the phone and looked at Darcy. She couldn't speak right away. "Okay, yeah," she said at last. "That was pretty special." A sniffle escaped her. "How long have you been working on this?"

"We've been working on the prototype for a year," Darcy said as he took back his phone, feeling lighter than air now that the secret was finally out. "It's a sort of offshoot of Domino, especially designed for people with autism and other speech disorders. I had the idea when his teachers were talking about picture-based voice output devices. It seemed a natural step to transfer it to a video/phone interface, and so many of the features were already in place with Domino. It just needed some tweaking."

"And Will?"

"I had the design team collaborate with his teachers once the prototype was ready a few weeks ago. In fact, they were able to get consent from several students' parents, so we've had a whole team of ready and willing beta testers. It is in the development stages," he added quickly. "There are still bugs to work out, and we are trying to make it more accessible and affordable. Even then, it's only a tool. It won't miraculously fix everything –"

"It's still miraculous," Lizzie put in. She wiped her eyes. "This is really disorienting. I want to go and hug Will, but I also want to make out with you until neither of us can breathe."

"We can leave this moment, if you like," he said. "We can go home, or we can go to the hotel room I've booked for the night. Either choice is fine by me."

"You sneaky –" Lizzie shook her head, unable to finish.

They smiled at each other, and then Darcy beckoned for the server.

"Let's stop by the house," Lizzie said. "On the way to the hotel."

Hannah and Joshua were already asleep by then, but Will was still awake, as usual. He didn't usually settle down to sleep until his parents were in bed. When they were both away, getting him to go to bed was a task of Herculean proportions. For that reason, they didn't spend the night away as often as they'd like.

Tonight, however, Gigi and Stephen were prepared. If one of them lay down with him for a half hour or so, it would likely provide enough encouragement for him to succumb to sleep. If not, they were willing stay up watching him. Gigi had insisted upon it once she learned that Darcy wanted to plan a special celebratory night with Lizzie.

Will was sitting quietly on the couch when they came inside, playing with one of his many spinning toys. Lizzie came to greet him, and he rocked back and forth happily. She wrapped in a hug and murmured, "I'm so proud of you."

Darcy did his best to swallow the growing lump in his throat. Then he joined Lizzie, hugged their son in turn, and said, "Thank you, Will."

Gigi, standing hand in hand with Stephen, beamed happily. "Okay, now go and have some fun," she said. "We'll take care of him."

"He might not sleep," Lizzie said.

"Don't worry about it," Gigi replied firmly. "This is your night."

Lizzie slipped down the hall for a minute before they left. Darcy assumed she was using the bathroom, but she returned with her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. "Ready?" she said, ignoring his curious look.

"Ready."

"Good night Will!" She waved at him cheerily, and he flicked a hand, his version of a wave. "Thanks Gigi, Stephen. See you tomorrow."

Back in the car, Darcy glanced at her laptop bag and said, "Are you planning on working at the hotel?"

"Of course not. That would be like taking calls in the middle of a dinner date." Her face was completely straight, but there was laughter in her voice. Apparently he wasn't the only one with secrets.

Never one to openly display impatience, he refrained from asking questions during the drive, but after they arrived at the hotel and checked in, Darcy set their overnight bag down on a table and looked pointedly at Lizzie. "So."

"So."

"Are you going to tell me why you need your laptop for our romantic getaway?"

"Eventually. But first things first." She led him to the wide, plush chair that overlooked the balcony, pushed him down and curled up on his lap. Darcy certainly made no attempt to resist her. Gripping the lapels of his suit coat, she pulled him close and kissed him. Darcy responded eagerly. Her surprise, whatever it was, could wait.

She pulled back and said softly, "I love you so much. What you've done for Will – and people like him –"

He shook his head. "It's just one thing. I wish I could do more."

"Well." A smile crept onto her face, and she hopped up from his lap to get her bag. "We're all looking for ways to help, aren't we?" She pulled out her computer and returned to his lap. "I was going to wait until the press release to show you this, but after tonight – I think you deserve an early preview."

It was difficult for him to make sense of her words, dizzy from the warmth of her body, the scent of her hair. "Preview? This is your company's newest production?"

She nodded, opening a file marked _AnothersEyes1_. "It's the first in a planned series. Have a look."

The video began with a dark screen and a muffled voiceover. _I see everything all the time._ Then a blinding light, and a kaleidoscope image of bewildering colors and shapes, moving and blending chaotically.

 _Sometimes I feel like fire ants are climbing up and down my arms, and if I don't move them I'll go crazy._ This was accompanied by a video of a girl engaging in exuberant arm-flapping.

 _When I'm doing what I like, everything else disappears._ And there was Will, intently spinning his toy, oblivious to the world around him but perfectly serene and happy.

It was a half hour in all, a masterful presentation of what it meant to be autistic from the viewpoint of several children and adults with autism. Darcy had comprehended his son's condition from a clinical view, from the perspective of developmental difficulties and sensory integration dysfunction, but this visceral, immersive experience was something else entirely. It was revelatory. Afterward, he sat back, absently rubbing Lizzie's palm with his thumb, and tried to absorb what he had just seen.

"It's brilliant," he said at last, quietly.

"Well….it's not just my work," she said, almost bashful. "I've had an amazing team working on it. Mary Ann, one of my graphic designers? She actually has Asperger's. She did the voiceover. And she got me in touch with a whole community. I really didn't want to misrepresent anything, you know, so I talked to as many people as I could find. It's not perfect."

"It's still brilliant."

She smiled, red-faced, and put the laptop aside on a table. "I can't believe we were both working on these projects all this time. Great minds think alike?"

"Perhaps." He held her close. "I only knew that I could not go on feeling sorry for myself just because Will may never be able to take over Pemberley, or that my field of interest seemed ill suited for a child with autism. Instead, I looked for a way that my interests could help him."

"Same here." She bit her lip. "The truth is, these videos might not interest Will very much. But they could help his brother and sister understand him better. They could help us, and other brothers and sisters and parents."

He nodded, brushing her hair from her face and marveling that he should find new reasons to love her every day, nearly every moment.

"Ever since you said Joshua was like our translator," she went on, "I've been trying to think of a way to translate the language of autism in some form. This is my attempt."

"I'm sure I'm not the only one who will find it illuminating," he murmured in her ear, then started planting kisses along her jawline.

She shivered, then straightened and said briskly, "All right, I think we've covered all of our other business. Let's get to the making-out-until-we-can't-breathe part of the evening, shall we?"

"Gladly."

They had a luxurious late morning, complete with a sumptuous breakfast from room service. "I'm tempted to not get out of bed at all," Lizzie was saying, just as Darcy's phone rang.

"Gigi," he said, glancing at the caller. It was not his sister's voice that greeted him, however, but two giggling children.

"Daddy!" came Hannah's voice. Joshua could be heard in the background, demanding that he have a turn.

"Good morning," he said solemnly. "To whom might I be speaking?"

"The moon!" answered Hannah, then dissolved into helpless laughter.

"No!" Joshua squeaked. "Daddy, daddy, it's us. Come home now, okay?"

Then Gigi's distant voice sounded, growing closer. "What are you doing? Come on, kiddos, that's not a toy and you know it. Sorry," she said directly into the phone. "We were busy with Will - I hope they didn't bother you."

"No," Darcy said, sharing a smile with Lizzie. "Not at all."

"Tell her we'll be home within the hour," Lizzie said.

He nodded and repeated the message to his sister. Romantic getaways were very nice, but so was coming home to a houseful of happy children.

Ups and downs, easy times and hard, he and Lizzie wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.


End file.
